


A Grave Misunderstanding

by jellybeanforest



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Yondu Udonta, Child Abuse, Child Death, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Mentions of Past Slavery, Ravagers Being Ravagers, Sexual Slavery, Top Kraglin, kragdu, quid pro quo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 04:23:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12786885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: In which Yondu is an ex-Kree slave turned beseiged Ravager Captain running out of options, Kraglin is a young upstart recruit with stars in his eyes and a dangerous crush, and both fundamentally misunderstand the nature of their relationship.





	A Grave Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags. This fic contains extremely dubious consent that would be considered rape in 95% of circles (and you know you can't trust that last 5%). I cannot caution you enough. If you don't like, don't read. If you do read, and I'm missing a tag, please let me know. 
> 
> I know I should finish writing my other fic that is 95% complete, but this one burrowed into my brain and had to be exorcised via typing. Anywho, this brain beetle was inspired by another fic on here: "For the Sake of the Babe" by ClassicalTorture, but that one's dark...er.

_Avri, Gillen, Dromix, Odarya, Krexis, Galorian._

It’s a mantra Yondu Udonta repeats every time Peter Quill fucks up.

_Avri, Gillen, Dromix, Odarya, Krexis, Galorian._

The decision to save Quill isn’t due to anything specific to Quill himself nor is it about earning Stakar’s forgiveness down the road. He knows that ship has sailed long ago. No. When Yondu looks at Peter Quill, he doesn’t just see Peter. He sees Avri’s stubbornness, Gillen’s light playful eyes, Dromix’s curiosity, Odarya’s recklessness, Krexis’s smile, and Galorian’s bravery in the face of fear. All the children he ferried to their death… He’s killed a lot of people, but these are the ones that haunt him. The decision to save Peter is atonement for them all. He had no choice, really.

Unfortunately, he is just about the only one who sees it that way.

After the schism, when Stakar banished his clan from the 99 Ravager clans for trafficking in children, most of his crew with any sort of moral code deserted to other factions. Only close friends, like Tullk and Oblo, stuck it out, probably due to some misplaced sense of loyalty or obligation. When Yondu further decides to keep the last child and forgo their large payout, many of those that were left desert then as well. Yondu is forced to fill his rosters with a flood of new, desperate, and highly-amoral recruits.

This brings him to the current dilemma: How to keep a small, noisy, defenseless, yet danger-prone boy safe in a ship full of cut-throat space pirates with unusually lax moral codes, short loyalties, and even shorter tempers.

Three easy steps.

 

_Step 1: Give an order and make sure your crew knows the consequences of disobedience._

The order had been simple really: Don’t touch the boy.

Apparently, that was too many words for some of his crew to comprehend. That’s the only reason Yondu can think of as to why he found Quill in the middle of a fighting ring facing off against a group of starving, highly-agitated orloni. That had been quite an extended stay in medbay for the brat and a lot of wasted vaccinations.

The ringleaders’ screams were particularly satisfying when they were lowered into an exhaust fan. You don't get that much quality shrieking and showmanship from a whistled arrow. More mess though. Yondu slightly regretted it when the ship smelled of rotted flesh for weeks afterwards. Shoddy clean-up, he supposes, but at least the orloni didn’t go hungry.

 

_Step 2: Teach Peter Quill to defend himself and fast._

“Okay son, show me whatchu got.”

Peter gives him a weak schoolyard punch that Yondu easily blocks before swiping his feet from under him and delivering a hit to his solar plexis. Peter gasps for air from the floor and starts to cry.

It’s going to be a long training session.

 

_Step 3: Keep Peter Quill close at all times._

This is where things got… complicated.

There are very few among his crew that he could trust with Peter’s safety, but they all had other responsibilities. Jobs that kept the Eclector running smoothly, jobs that brought in money. No one worth their salt had time to babysit a soft, breakable brat. Peter is an annoying crybaby, absolutely insufferable to most of his crew, even the ones he would usually be able to count on. If he had been a different, more capable, more quiet child who followed orders the first time, maybe this would be a slightly easier task. It’s not the first time Yondu wishes he had kept one of the other less-irritating children.

As a result, Yondu keeps Peter close to him, only taking short jobs lasting a day or two, tops. He figures Peter can keep out of trouble for that long. It’s a good system that works well… until it doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

A week. 

That’s how long it took for him to escape when the last job went tits up. It was only supposed to be a simple retrieval, a little smash and grab, but his contact hadn’t said anything about the security system that bio-locked the whole damn place when the alarm sounded nor the three-headed guard dog.

When he returns to the Eclector, Yondu expects to find Quill sold or dismembered and his hopes for atonement dashed. What he finds is a boy who is a little harried and worse for wear, but inexplicably alive and in one piece. Not bad.

“It was that skinny Xandarian git what looked after him, Cap’n. Name’s Obfonteri, Kraglin Obfonteri,” Horuz informs him, pointing out a relatively new recruit. The man is young and willowy with large blue eyes. He catches Yondu’s gaze for a moment, but ducks his head and turns away quickly. Yondu doesn’t recognize him, but then again, they have had a lot of new people around here recently. “Some o’ the crew had a plan to sell the kid an’ claim he got lost in t’vents. Could’a made a mint, but le’s jus’ say, Obfonteri’s quick with the short knife. Boy’s been stuck to ‘im like glue ever since. Don’t think the man much likes it, but he manages.”

“Send ‘im to my quarters. I’d like to have a chat with ‘im.” Yondu’s quarters were sound-proofed, the best place to talk personal business away from eavesdropping ears.

 

* * *

 

When the door shuts behind Obfonteri, Yondu is assured of privacy to interrogate the new upstart. Kraglin shuffles nervously on his feet. He’s in the captain’s quarters for a _private meeting_. He couldn’t be more excited.

“Sit.” Yondu indicates a chair across from where he’s sitting on the bed. The room is small, and there’s only so much space for excess furniture. Kraglin obeys.

“What’s yer angle, Obfonteri? Ya lookin’ fer money? Power?” Yondu isn’t stupid. He has no illusions about the quality of his crew. There is a minority comprised of old loyal standbys, but the bulk are truly bottom-of-the-barrel space pirates. Only the most disreputable recruits stayed after the schism with only the worst signing up after. No one protected the annoying “Captain’s Pet” and gave up a guaranteed payout without an ulterior motive, especially not one of the newer faces. Obfonteri couldn’t possibly _like_ Peter Quill. Even Yondu himself barely liked Peter Quill most days. If his obligation towards the boy had been any less than the weight of six dead half-siblings on his conscience, Yondu would have spaced the brat weeks ago.

“No, nothin’ like that,” Kraglin says, his voice low. He did this for Yondu after all, to prove his loyalty, to show how far he would go for his Cap’n. He’s hoping he sounds older than he is, sexy, and confident instead of nervous. He’s lightheaded, and his stomach is fluttering. He’s had a crush on his Captain since he first signed his recruitment papers and beat his chest to his Ravager Flame. Now that he has his attention, he should make a move. Let Yondu know how he feels, that he’s interested if Cap’n would have him. It’s daring, potentially fatal even, but then again Kraglin has always been attracted to danger. He places what he thinks is a bold, comforting hand on the other man’s knee. He gives it a little squeeze and massage but doesn’t move any higher up his thigh. Kraglin wants to be respectful, after all.

Yondu recognizes an offer, an opening bid, when he sees one.

 _Just let me, and I will save him_ , the lazily circling hand says to him. His gut twists into a deadweight knot and drops to his ankles. He feels ill, like he’s going to vomit. His mouth tastes of bitter bile and dread. It has been a long time since he made a similar deal. As an ex-slave who had long since clawed his way to the top of the Ravager elite, Yondu’s body simply wasn’t for sale anymore. He had his freedom, rank, respect, credits. There had been no need to offer up his flesh in exchange for anything. He was no longer that helpless slave bent over any horizontal surface for another’s pleasure, save his own. He didn’t allow himself to be anymore. Still – the boy’s face flitted across his mind’s eye – 

He had traded for less.

“You’ll keep ‘im safe? Keep the crew from harmin’ him when I can’t?” He asks tentatively. He knows the question betrays sentiment, but it’s always smart to know what you are buying, to ask for verbal confirmation.

“Sure, Cap’n,” Kraglin gives Yondu one of his best smiles. He’s eager to please. He desperately wants Yondu to like him. Maybe then…

“Okay, Obfonteri.” Yondu stands up, and removes his jacket. “Are we doin’ this or what?”

 _That was fast_ , Kraglin thinks. But he is not the type to question a lucky windfall when he really wants what’s being offered. Cap’n is a decisive, impulsive man in other facets of life, so why not also in the bedroom? If Cap’n wants to do this, consider it done.

“Yes, sir!” Kraglin says a bit too enthusiastically. He starts to take off his own jacket as well, mirroring Yondu’s state of undress.

 _‘Sir?’ That’s rich._ Yondu rifles through an end-table drawer near his bed and produces a tube of slick, which he tosses to Kraglin. No reason to make this experience any more painful than it has to be.

“Ground rules: No talkin’, no visible marks, and we don’ speak o’ this outside this room. Git it?” He’s not looking at Kraglin. He doesn’t want to see the triumph, that naked hunger, in his eyes. This is already humiliating enough. He sits on the bed to remove his boots then stands to loosen his belt and drop his pants.

“Whatever ya want, sir,” Kraglin breathes, pulling his shirt over his head, mussing up his mohawk. He can work with that. He just can’t believe this is happening. He’s so giddy with excitement and preoccupied with undressing, he doesn’t even notice the strange look Yondu is giving him at his breathy answer.

“No talkin’,” Yondu reminds him. He turns away from Kraglin and shakily removes his shirt. When Kraglin see what’s underneath, he sucks in a breath. Yondu hates showing people his back. It’s a mess of jagged lines and entire areas of light, too-tight skin where he had had his slave brands burned clean off. The largest scar is a silvered ragged strip running from the base of his implant to his lower back from when he had his ruined tahlei amputated. Each mark is a story in his embattled history, and he hates that book being laid bare, especially to an opportunistic fuck like Obfonteri.

Kraglin moves to touch the old scars, and Yondu flinches, batting away Kraglin’s exploring hands. Kraglin withdraws. _Okay, maybe he’s self-conscious, or perhaps the scars are still sensitive, even after all this time?_ He can’t ask without violating the rules.

Yondu internally cringes at the sound of Kraglin unzipping his pants. This is the worst part, the anticipation. Kraglin wonders which one of them will go first until Yondu makes the decision for him by bending over the bed, his legs spread. Yondu closes his eyes. His jaw has a hard set to it as he grinds his teeth. _Won’t be long now._ With any luck, Obfonteri suffers from premature ejaculation.

 _Huh, no romance? No foreplay?_ Kraglin thinks. Perhaps an abundance of quickies is just a Ravager thing he’ll just have to get used to. Time is money, after all.

Oblivious, Kraglin pops open the tube he’s been given and slicks his erection. He puts some extra on his fingers and moves to apply it to Yondu as well. Kraglin wants to lay against Yondu’s back, planting kisses and teasing the skin of his shoulders and neck between his teeth. He wants to explore every inch of exposed blue skin with his fingers and tongue. However, although it wasn’t explicitly stated in the rules, Yondu has made it crystal clear through his actions that he does not want him to touch his back under any circumstances. Kraglin doesn’t want to fuck this up. He has one chance, and he wants to respect Yondu’s unspoken boundaries, so he hovers over his ruined back to place his right hand on his shoulder instead. Yondu stifles the urge to buck him off. He has to do this for Quill’s sake.

 _Hm. His muscles are as tense as a bowstring._ Kraglin kneads his shoulder a bit. He didn’t take Yondu as the nervous type. It makes him feel better about this, like he’s not alone in feeling this way. With his left hand, he touches slick fingers to Yondu’s asshole. It’s very constricted, but working one inside, he tries to stretch him out a bit to accommodate what’s coming next. Yondu is so tight and hot inside, it makes him heady and drunk with desire. His dick is throbbing at the thought of popping that hole for the first time. But as much as he wants to be inside Yondu right now, filling him up, he wants to make sure it’s good for him as well. If he likes it, maybe he’ll want to do this again some time.

For his part, Yondu wonders why Kraglin is taking this extra effort instead of plowing ahead. He’s already in the position favored by previous owners. The quicker Kraglin gets to it, the faster their transaction can be complete. _For now_ , a little voice reminds him. Arrangements like this are rarely one-time deals. The hand on his shoulder leaves and reappears sliding up and down his dick. That’s odd. Most people wouldn’t provide extra reach-around services for this sort of thing. It’s not like they need to do it to get themselves off. Yondu’s member hardens at the sensation. _Traitor,_ he thinks. Kraglin has managed to slide two fingers inside him by now. When Yondu is stetched to his satisfaction, he removes them and lines up his slicked dick before pushing in slowly. It’s their first time together, and Kraglin doesn’t want to hurt him by going too fast too soon. Yondu’s breath hitches. _Here it comes._

Kraglin speeds up as he feels Yondu’s body loosen. He gasps in ragged breaths. The sweet wet heat grips and pulls at his member, edging him towards release as he bucks and rocks against Yondu’s backside. He moves the hand around Yondu’s member in time to his thrusts. Kraglin moans in sheer bliss, while Yondu screws up his face to the pumping of Kraglin’s dick into his ass. It’s a familiar sensation from long ago, one that he had built up sufficient defenses against. It’s been a long time, but his body falls back into old patterns. It remembers that feeling of learned helplessness, of being owned and taken by another. He will survive this as he has many times before.

Yondu cums to Kraglin’s ministrations, but there is no pleasure. The response is entirely mechanical on his part. Kraglin follows shortly after, moaning Yondu’s name. He withdraws to Yondu’s relief and slides bonelessly off his body onto the bed next to him, sated and satisfied. His effortless, genuine smile contrasts with the tight line of Yondu’s mouth.

“We’re done ‘ere. Now git out,” Yondu says flatly. He doesn’t even wait for Kraglin to come down from his fuzzy post-orgasmic high. He’s turned away from him, but if Kraglin could see his face, it would look etched in stone. Kraglin is disappointed in himself. It’s not like he expected to be invited to spend the night, but it seems Yondu didn’t have as much fun as he did. He hopes he didn’t hurt him, though Yondu would be too proud to admit it. He’d probably cuff him if he even asked.

“So, uh… ya want t’do this again some time?” Kraglin hedges hopefully, as he sits at the edge of the bed and pulls on his pants.

Yondu hears: _Do you want me to keep protecting Quill?_ His asshole is gaping and tender from being so freshly fucked, and Kraglin’s seed is slippery between his thighs but quickly turning tacky dry. _If that’s what it’s going to take…_ He closes his eyes and nods his assent.

So, there will be another time. Kraglin smiles. He is glad he didn’t mess up what could turn out to be a regular thing. He finishes dressing, and he leans over to give Yondu a parting squeeze on the shoulder. He’s met with a hard right hook to the face.

“Did I fuckin’ stutter? Git out!”

Kraglin hustles out the door, disoriented, tripping over his feet to follow his captain’s orders. His face is throbbing. He hisses as he slowly assesses the damage with his fingers. He feels the beginning of a black eye, one of his teeth is knocked loose, and his large nose might be broken, but –

Kraglin thinks he might be in love.


End file.
